


D.I.Y.

by mific



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Fanfiction, M/M, Rimming, Slash, Smut, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 01:22:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney's a bit too self-sufficient, but you get that with geniuses. <br/>Written for kink_bingo 2009. Prompt:"rimming". Pretty much PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	D.I.Y.

~~o0o~~ 

Rodney’s a D.I.Y. kind of guy. He’s had to be. Years of disastrous dates and one night stands make you pretty jaded about getting what you need from another person. 

He’s good with his hands, so that should make up for the tricky personality, right? Maybe, but it hasn’t saved him from sexual encounters worthy of Darwin awards. Like that little geologist guy from Taiwan. People with tiny mouths and extreme gag reflexes really shouldn’t offer to give blow jobs because, jeez, who’s going to say no to a blow job? Not Rodney, although he’s been too traumatised by the _Exorcist_-style gagging and projectile vomiting to let anyone else try it since. 

Then there were the grad students back at Caltech – a series of furtive, inadequate hand jobs in the computer lab store-cupboard, late at night while running simulations. Their hands too sweaty, too limp, too rough. Always some damn thing. Jerking him off far too slowly as he stood there bored stupid, rolling his eyes and muttering a sarcastic running commentary: “For fuck’s sake, Petrov, put some wrist action into it! Ow ow ow! Watch it with the fingernails there! Moron.” 

So it’s no wonder Rodney’s given up on getting other people to meet his needs – not that anyone’s been keen on a close encounter of the second kind; possibly he’s been a little harsh at times with the concrit. 

The Atlantis Expedition doesn’t lend itself to sexual experimentation anyway. He’s the Chief Scientist: a position of trust, of authority. Plus there’s the US military establishment and their DADT crap. Just as well he’s practised at pleasing himself, and really, he doesn’t have the time to waste buttering people up so as to wangle sexual favors. He’s lucky to get a few hours sleep here and there; it’s better to sort out his own stress-relief when he gets some precious time alone in his quarters, using those talented hands on himself in ways he’s perfected across the years. 

~~o0o~~

John sprawls back on Rodney’s bed; Rodney’s lying on the couch, propped up on cushions. They’re kicking back, sinking a few beers after another close shave. 

M3G-475 – supposedly a milk run, but naturally there’s been a goddam coup since the last trip and the new despot is best buddies with the Genii. Far too much running and hiding as heavy boots thud across the trapdoor to their cellar, then a sweaty dash for the ’gate as arrows whine past their ears. Finally collapsing, winded, on the floor of the ’gate room, Ronon with a feathered shaft embedded in his shoulder so it’s off to the Infirmary again, heigh ho. Then he’s all bandaged up and full of painkillers with Teyla on vigil beside him, shooing them away, so they head off to Rodney’s room to chill. 

They drink ale and talk about random shit. Hockey vs football, Star Trek vs Star Wars, Batman vs Superman, Blond hair vs dark. John grumbles about the lack of partners of any hair color because, hello: Military Commander, fraternisation. And DADT, wonders Rodney? He’s thought so at times, but he’s not sure. _Don’t ask_: that bullshit rubs off on you, hanging out with a flyboy. 

“Dick’s gonna shrivel up from lack of use,” John says, poking sadly at the crotch of his BDUs. He’s a little drunk: the ale’s strong, a far cry from watery Buds. 

Rodney snorts: “Yeah, don’t expect me to believe you don’t use your hand, Sheppard, so’s to stop your junk atrophying.”

“Not the same, buddy, not the same. It never feels as good as someone else’s hand. You know.” He tips back his head and takes another swallow. Rodney watches the line of his throat as his Adam’s apple bobs. 

“Actually, no. That’s where you’d be wrong. I can get myself off far better than anyone else can. I mean, it’s just logic – who else knows my reactions, knows what works for me, what I like. Apart from glowy ascended priestesses doing spooky mind-meld sex, that is.” Rodney shoots John a dirty look. 

“You’re never going to let me live that down are you?” John’s pouting. “It wasn’t sex anyway, and all I did was kiss her–” 

“Yeah, yeah, so you say. Anyway, I don’t need to get led around by the dick, ’cause I take care of business myself. And I’m pretty damned skilled at it if I do say so. Genius, an’ all that.” 

John raises one eyebrow, “Accutsomed-.” He shakes his head and tries again. “_Accustomed_ as I am to your endless self-promotion, bragging about spanking the monkey is pushing it uphill McKay. I mean, jerking off’s a pretty basic skill: genius doesn’t come into it.” 

“Ha! And how very wrong you would be about that – clearly you have the technique of a grade-schooler whereas I am the…the _Einstein_ of masturbation.” Einstein possibly not the best image for anything sex-related, but the ales have taken a toll on Rodney as well so he’s slow bringing to mind a roll call of Hot Famous Scientists. Oppenheimer? Rodney smirks at his in-joke: hot, radioactive. Snort. 

John spits beer on the bedspread: Neanderthal. “The what? Oh man, that’s rich. So tell me what’s so special about your _masturbatory_ technique then. Come on, share the love.”

“You should be so lucky.” Rodney grins, ale-emboldened: “There’s more to it than a quick hand job. The over-200-miles-an-hour principle’s best applied to cars not sex y’know. You gotta savor it, draw it out. What’s the longest you ever edged for?”

“Edged?” John frowns, obviously not happy to be less than au fait with any sexual term. Insufficient research: a common failing.

“Yeah, edged. Kept yourself on the edge without coming. How long?”

John shifts restlessly, scowls a little. “Dunno. Maybe fifteen minutes?”

“Ah – see, I’ve done it for an hour. Lifts it to a whole other level when you do that.”

John shakes his head. “Christ, McKay, why would you want to torture yourself? That’s just frustrating.” 

Rodney gets up and goes to the mini-fridge across from the bed. He squats down and considers the contents: damn, there’s no ale left. He takes a soda instead. Straightening up, he feels John’s eyes on him. “Nah, it’s erotic, it feels good. You want a soda? Sorry – we drank the beer.” 

John nods, flushed: “Yeah, soda’s fine.” 

Hmmm. Rodney bends over again, deliberately straight-legged, letting his jacket ride up, ass tight in his uniform as he reaches for the can. His butt feels warm, heated by John’s eyes and yeah, he’s the king of D.I.Y. pleasure but this is _John_ in his room, talking about sex and, if Rodney’s not mistaken, getting turned on. It makes him kind of crazy so he continues. “Then there’s toys, of course.”

“What?” John’s looking slightly stunned but his eyes have darkened and he’s breathing a little fast and shallow. His voice is higher than usual. “Toys?”

“Vibrators, dildos, that sort of thing. Don’t tell me you haven’t discovered the joys of the prostate?” 

John bites his lip and looks away. His hips shift unconsciously, spreading his legs a little as the bulky fabric of the BDUs across his groin tightens. “Jesus.”  He sucks desperately at his soda then wipes his mouth. Finally he risks a sideways glance at Rodney who’s leaning on the wall, eyeing him with interest and not troubling to hide his own erection. “Still, there are some things you just can’t do for yourself McKay,” John says, a desperate note in his voice. 

“Like what?” Rodney wants to push this as far as it will go, wants to make him say the words, to put them out there and make them real. 

It earns him an eye-roll. “Like blow jobs, obviously. Not unless you’re a contortionist, that is.”

“Yeah, like that guy in _Shortbus_.” Rodney grins. 

John scowls: “That movie was _so_ not porn. Zelenka ripped me off.” 

“Oh come on, you got off on it. You liked the threesome part at the end, and the orgy scenes.” 

“Yeah well, duh. But no changing the subject: you need another person for a blow job, s’what I’m saying.” 

Rodney’s cock gets harder. John wants to do this, to go there. He feels a surge of lust, tightening his balls. “Yeah, and for a few other things.” He puts his can down on the fridge and gets onto the bed, kneeling across John and taking the can from him, setting it aside. “Like rimming.”

“Rimming?” John’s voice is faint, a whisper, his pupils huge and black, the hazel a thin rim. He licks his lips, staring up at Rodney. 

Oh, yeah, finally. Rodney’s wanted this for months, but it’s hard to change years of self-sufficiency and John’s the master of mixed signals. He feels a surge of triumph: they’re going to do it; he read John right. He spreads his thighs and sinks down so his groin’s brushing John’s, moving his hips in circles so his butt brushes the swelling in John’s pants on each gyration. He makes his voice deeper as he grips John’s biceps, pressing his arms back against the headboard: “You know what rimming is, don’t you John?” 

“Yeah.” It’s barely audible, a breathy groan against Rodney’s face as he leans in and sucks on John’s lower lip, licking across it then pressing a kiss to John’s mouth. John’s head goes back and his mouth opens, his tongue tentative at first against Rodney’s, then urgent as he strains up, pushing their cocks together, moaning into Rodney’s mouth. 

Rodney releases John’s arms and slides his fingers into John’s hair on either side, pinning his head as he pushes his tongue into John’s open mouth. He feels John’s arms come up, pulling at his jacket and shirt, hands spreading hot on the skin of his back, thumb tracing down the curve of his spine. Rodney arches helplessly. He’s set this in motion but he’s lost in it now, lost in John’s hands, in his mouth, in the rush of ceding control to a partner. 

~~o0o~~

John’s startled when Rodney makes a move. It’s been a few years since he let himself do this but he’s sure to have had more experience than Rodney McKay PhD (masturbation). It’s the booze and all this talk about ways to get off, and Rodney flashing his (admittedly tempting) butt: he really wants this now, wants to teach McKay a lesson. Huh - D.I.Y., he’ll show him what he’s been missing out on, playing solitaire. 

John gets Rodney’s pants undone, gets his hand on his hot, silky cock. Damn it feels nice, jumping in his hand as it stiffens in his grip. He pulls Rodney against him, pressing that panting, crooked mouth into his neck as he works the shaft, thick and dusky as Rodney’s hips force his leaking glans through the counterpoint of John’s squeezing hand. Rodney moans incoherently into John’s neck and mouths at his ear.

“Better than jerking yourself off, Rodney? Better than doing it yourself?”

“F-fuck. I…Unnh. Nnng.”

Rodney arches, face slack with pleasure as he spills into John’s hand. John feels vindicated, arousal thrumming through his body as Rodney slumps against him. He has to have skin, more skin. 

He gets up and strips Rodney, wiping them off with a t-shirt. It’s not easy as Rodney’s gone boneless, a dead weight. Finally the clothes are gone and John deals with his own gear with ruthless efficiency. Come on, come _on_. He crawls back up the bed, where Rodney’s managed to push himself up to sit against the pillows. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are red and swollen. 

John scales Rodney’s solid, hot body and kisses those wrecked lips. Rodney’s arms and legs wrap around him and hold him tight. It feels good, better than anything as Rodney tongues his neck, licks the hollow of his throat, opens his mouth again and kisses the hell out of him until he’s dazed and panting. John wants more though, fired by those provocative hints. _Know what rimming is?_ Oh, yes. He grabs Rodney, pushing him down flat, arms and legs spread-eagled as John settles into the V of his thighs, wrestling a pillow under his hips. 

John kneels, frowning in concentration as he strokes the soft skin inside Rodney’s thighs. Rodney groans and lets his legs fall open; his cock is half-hard again and he rolls his hips up, begging. John slides down, spreading his cheeks with strong thumbs and Rodney arches up into the first touch of John’s tongue, licking up across his hole, sucking on his perineum and then, gently, his balls. Rodney moans and writhes, but John’s hands hold him firm as his tongue swirls around the puckered entrance, teasing, pushing in just a little, then swiping down his crack and up to his balls again. 

“Johnnn,” Rodney moans, eyes shut, muscles working as he tries ineffectually to suck John’s tongue into his ass. “John, _please_, oh _please_.” His fists clench the bedclothes and his back curves up as he jerks repeatedly under John’s restraining hands. 

John thrusts his tongue in as far as he can, interspersing his actions with gasped comments: “See this. Takes two. Can’t do it. Yourself.” He loves the salty, musky smell, the sharply concentrated taste of Rodney. It goes straight to his cock, making him wild, kissing and licking, tongue-fucking Rodney’s ass as he rubs his own achingly hard cock frantically on the sheets, toes clawed to gain a little purchase. 

Rodney’s thighs are rigid and trembling, toes curled, back arched like a bow, tendons cording his neck. A keening noise comes out of his mouth and his head thrashes. 

With a sudden, brutal change of direction, John surges up and grabs Rodney’s now-hard cock, sucking on it hungrily, pulling off briefly to spit on his fingers then working them deep into Rodney’s saliva-wet ass before deep-throating him again. His other arm is tight around Rodney’s hips, to stop him bucking. And Rodney’s gone, all thrusting, bursting, pulsating cock as he comes in John’s hot, sucking mouth, spasming around his fingers with a hoarse yell. 

John’s writhing between Rodney’s legs now, one hand gripping his own cock and the other Rodney’s hairy leg, the better to hump it, jerking himself desperately until come splatters all over his hand, Rodney’s knee and the sheets. He falls heavily on his front, pressing his hot face into the bed between Rodney’s thighs. He feels ruined and wonderful. 

After an age John crawls up beside Rodney who’s splayed out on his back, one arm over his eyes, seemingly unable to move. 

“Like I said,” John says. 

Rodney groans: “What?”

“Takes two. Or more. Can’t do it yourself.” John’s smug, mumbling into the pillow. Mission accomplished. 

“Fuck, you’re planning an orgy now?” Rodney opens one eye, squints sidelong at him in mock alarm. 

John smirks: “Nah, I’m more than you can handle.” 

Rodney rolls, pulling John into his arms, settling his face in the crook of Rodney’s neck, their legs intertwined. He kisses John’s hair. “Jesus. You got that right.” 

~~o0o~~


End file.
